“Forest Nocturne”, “Lunar Light” and “Superposition: Love on a Quantum Level”

Forest Nocturne

this drama hums birched, blue,

and pine behind winter-closed doors

where raccoons and rabbits still.

i remember the evening's autumn

cathedral when amber light

massed in prayer above. i

played over the under of your body.

don't think Nietzsche would be

angry because under

i explored this penumbra'd path

round a temporary pond jewelled

with drake and hen lusty

in spring swell—winter's death

finding level. finding its lever

opening to a love tossed bed

lipped by the cold fast recede

of white mountain to the black

ocean south aching and taking.

each spring a hesitation. the surface

of lindens throb ebonied by rain

and the lime-gold glow of old

and future dangle folded as fresh

cicadas on bracelets of branches.

Lunar Light

a shallow dimple forms

in the right moon of


a peculiar crookedness

of teeth grown yellow & sharp

on the inescapable whetstone

of orbital life

impact craters

airfree gloom & loneliness

unexpressed utterance

layered dust path untread

to horizon

form a vibrant circle

of reflection


violates the gate on my heart

all seas seen & unseen

let me fire myself against

tranquility polishing

what painful solitudes wax

& wan between us.

Superposition: Love on a Quantum Level

you could be here

in the violet orbit of my embrace

you could be a cat in a box

cool you with a flute of

not hemlock sherlock!

sip smoky mezcal

entice tongue

into ear like worm.

what did shakespeare say?

even the worm of breeches

screws when ridden on or

courage, out damned spot!

you could

be house-broken by

now your breaths caress

down C1 C2 vertebra

which could drive me crazy

if you were here but we are

not we yet then

you could be driving

backwoods vermont

or west feliciana parish

on broadway

trying to untangle these

signs without my owl-eyes

without my power to conjure

an omen of go which leads you

to my chartreuse flame of desire

laying odds on a probability

that without my measuring

you enter as a wave through

the slit & wait of my embrace

leaving your

interference pattern

all over me.

About the Author

stephanie roberts

stephanie roberts writes as an exploration of what it means to be humane. A 2018 Pushcart Prize nominee, she was born in Central America, grew up in Brooklyn, and enjoys her hermitage in a wee town just outside of Montréal. Twitter shenanigans @ringtales.